Exploring Colonial Mexico©
Exploring Colonial Mexico©
Désiré Charnay
Born near Lyons, France in 1828, the traveler and amateur archeologist Désiré Charnay came to America at an early age - he was teaching French in New Orleans at the age of 17. Inspired by John Lloyd Stephen's accounts, he made his first trip to Mexico in 1857 where he was inspired by the exotic scenery. Initially Charnay focussed on photography, of which he was a pioneer, documenting the ubiquitous ruins that littered the ancient sites of Mexico.
The selection we have chosen from Exploring Yucatan gives an account of his travails with the climate and the hazards of early photography at Uxmal, and is taken from his Cites et Ruines Americains (1863), which was lavishly illustrated with his remarkable photographs.
"In Uxmal I experienced countless difficulties in my operations; the terrible heat, decomposition of the chemicals, and all kinds of accidents almost compromised the success of my expedition. Add to that a series of sleepless nights, and you will have some idea of my position. I have said that I set up camp in the Nunnery palace, and that I turned one of the rooms of the south wing into my bedroom. The first night 1 spent there was blissful; I had removed the hangings that covered the doorway, and the swinging of my hammock helped to make the heat almost bearable.
I slept alone
in the palace, as the Indians refused point-blank to spend the
night among the ruins; the very idea inspired them with mortal
terror. Antonio had begged me to return to the hacienda each night,
but this would have been a waste of time, and as I could guess
what he was driving at, I left him free to sleep wherever he wished,
providing he and the Indians were there ready, at my disposal,
by daybreak I was therefore alone, and thanks to my labors, I
had scarcely lain down in my hammock before I fell into a deep
sleep.
On the third day I lost this sweet rest for good. At around four
in the afternoon there had been a dreadful storm, accompanied
by torrential rain. Unable to take my evening stroll, I was limited
to taking a few notes, sitting by the door of my lodgings. Night
fell and I settled into my hammock, where I quickly fell fast
asleep.
But alas! it
was not to last, for I was suddenly awoken by dreadful pain. The
sound of wings filled the room, and feeling around myself I found
a multitude of cold flat insects the size of a large cockroach.
It was horrific! Several of them were walking over my face; I
hurriedly lit a candle, and my eyes were struck by the most revolting
scene imaginable. Over two hundred of the dreadful creatures lay
trapped in my hammock, as if caught in a net; at least thirty
of the animals were still attached to me, and I quickly shook
them off; my face, hands, and body were covered with swellings
that were unbearably painful. Several of the insects lying in
the hammock were fat and swollen with the blood they had sucked
from me; the walls were covered with their companions, who seemed
to be waiting until their friends, once sated, would allow them
to take their turn. How on earth could I rid myself of so many
enemies!
I armed myself with a short plank of wood and embarked on the
massacre. It was an appalling and disgusting task, which made
me feel quite sick. The battle lasted two hours; without pity,
without mercy, I squashed every one. Once I was sure that the
place was clean, that there were only dead bodies left, I hermetically
sealed the door and tried to go back to sleep; but two hours later
I had to repeat the whole procedure. These insects were piques,
or flying bugs. The next day I changed my place of residence,
but my enemies hounded me down there as well, and my life became
a living hell...
I found I had less energy for my work, and my strength was further
sapped by appalling sweating... Each picture could take me up
to two or three attempts; some, which were perfectly successful,
were lost through unexpected accidents and often as a result of
the Indians' indiscreet curiosity; in spite of my express instructions,
they could not keep their hands off the finished shots that I
left to dry out of doors.
One example of
this is illustrated by the following incident, which almost prevented
me from photographing the most beautiful of the palaces, the House
of the Governor. I had kept it until last, so as to be able to
devote all my attention to it. As the palace stands on a pyramid,
I had had to construct a drystone base 12 feet high on the platform
in front of it, in order to raise my camera to the level of the
building. As my darkroom, which I had set up in the large central
chamber, was 260 feet from the place where the plate would be
exposed, I was forced to shroud all my equipment in damp cloths;
I wrapped some around the camera frame so that the layer of collodion
would not dry out during the long exposure time and all the comings
and goings. And to keep the time as short as possible I ran.
Because the palace is very large, I decided to photograph it in
two halves, so as to capture it in greater detail and to achieve
3 more striking overall effect. For these pictures I had set aside
a bottle of collodion that had been left to settle out perfectly;
I was relying on this and on two glass plates, which were the
only ones I had been able to find. I had no more chemicals left,
and no more glass plates, so I had to get it right, and get it
right twice in quick succession, in case the light should change,
making the lighting different for each half of the monument.
So I began, and the first shot worked perfectly: not a mark, clear,
transparent, each detail properly highlighted-in a word, irreproachable.
For the second, a ray of light got into the camera, leaving a
black line across the glass and making the shot impossible. I
quickly cleaned the glass plate; my collodion was running low
and I had none in reserve, so I poured it out as carefully as
possible. Aware of how I had accidentally spoiled the first shot,
I found it quite easy to avoid making the same mistake twice.
All went well; the shot was successful; it had the same tone,
the same clarity, and I was already glorying in my successful
handling of such a delicate operation. I put down the plate I
had just finished to examine the first one again, so as to get
a better idea of the quality of my results. I held the transparent
plate in my hand, and looking through it, I went to wipe away
some films of chemical that I could see on the back of the glass.
O despair! someone had turned the glass plate over, and my whole
hand wiped across the exposed layer of collodion. I knew that
the whole thing was utterly ruined and, looking fiercely around
me, uttering dreadful curses, I demanded to know who was responsible.
The guilty party was careful not to confess. The intensity of
my fury made me leap around like a tiger, and the Indians looked
petrified. What could I do! In the Nunnery palace I had left several
bottles containing leftover sensitized collodion. I promised a
piaster to the first man who could bring them to me.
The poor things rushed away with the speed of arrows, setting
off on a frenzied steeplechase along the route we had hacked through
the forest. In my rage I could scarcely tolerate the delay, but
I hurried to clean the glass plate once more, and they were back
even before I had finished."
Désiré Charnay from Cites et ruines americaines (1863)